The Return
by bm0611
Summary: Bryn Morrow was long dead according to the military. After 3 years, her family has finally resigned to moving on despite the heartache. What if she wasn't dead? What if someone was wrong? And how does Happy react? Happy/OC [[I don't own any recognizable characters and/or events. No plagiarism is intended.]]
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

Words don't mean much when you're dead. They hold no comfort from the ripped pages of a letter you never got send for yourself. _Dear Mom, I'm sorry I won't be coming home. This war was not mine, but I fought it anyway._ No comfort offered by a uniform could heal the wounds that seared a heart after your fate is laid on the table with no visible proof of the believed truth. That letter, that you hoped would never find its way home, is no consolation to the loss of a child, sister, and friend. _Dear Dad, I'll always be your little girl. My heart stays with you though my soul has left this world behind. _

Gemma's fingers leafed around the frayed edges of the paper in her hands. Her heart had shattered far beyond belief when it was placed in her care exactly 3 years before. No mother should lose a child. Her boys had fought tooth and nail to live through the uncertainty of a genetic heart defect, but they were alive and well. Her daughter, her little baby girl had willingly stepped in front of the shrapnel and lead that took her life.

Gemma had down right begged Bryn to change her mind or even go AWOL to stay out of the military. But Bryn _was_ Gemma in the sense that once she set her mind to something, it would be reality come hell or high water. Unfortunately, that reality had left her baby lying somewhere in the Middle East without even a body to bury. _No evidence she survived the attack_ was what they had fed to Gemma, Clay, Thomas and Jax. The team she went in on the mission with—no one survived.

Bryn had broken down walls in the military—forced her way into a group of elite enforcers inside the U.S. Marine Corp. On paper, she was a sniper; in reality she was a covert operations officer that could handle hand-on-hand combat with the best of them. She was impressive, but she had also been taken out in her prime at 24 during a Black Ops mission overseas. The officers couldn't tell her family where she had died or how, just that she wasn't coming back and handed over the now-ragged _Dear John_ letter that Gemma carried with her every day.

For the first year, Gemma didn't break down. She told people on a regular basis that Bryn was alive—she just knew it. She believed it wholeheartedly. Until someone left her body where she could identify her, Gemma Teller-Morrow was sullen to believe that Bryn was a live and captive somewhere in the far beyond.

The second year, Gemma broke down in hysterics at the headstone placed in the cemetery beside her first husband, Thomas and Jax's father, John Teller. She stayed on the grave in memory of her baby girl for 2 days in the rain and cold begging God to bring her back or to take her too. Neither had come to fruition and Clay, Jax and Thomas had carried her to the car sobbing and maniacal to get her ass back home. They had long since given in to the mourning of their loved one.

The third year, the present year, Gemma sat quietly praying for her daughter's soul. This was her day of grieving and she would sit in her room alone for the entirety of it to mourn her little girl. Grief was a silent pain that broke the soul a little at a time. Gemma, Clay, Thomas and Jax knew all too well just how cruel grief could be.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

Gemma thought for sure her mind was playing with her. It was as if she wanted to see it so badly that her mind had conjured the sight out of thin air. She had begged and prayed to God for so long that she was imagining shit. She rubbed her hands across her eyes so hard that her mascara smeared in a black line across her cheek. She could not have cared less about her make-up at that point.

When the door of the clubhouse had opened and shut, there was no sound to be heard above the blare of the speakers amid the party that was raging at the clubhouse. Their visitor had sought them out with effort and succeeded in finding all the most important people in her life huddled together around a poker table in the back where the music's bass was only a mild thump. Gemma sat perched on Clay's lap as she laughed at the sorry hand he had been dealt. The club men were gathered around in various states. Opie, Thomas and Jax were talking about bullshit business, eyes wide at their cards. Tig and Juice were telling bullshit stories to Bobby and Chibs that had the men in stitches. Happy and Kozik seemed stoic, but content nonetheless just playing the game among light conversation.

She hadn't known what to say. She figured she wouldn't say anything, not for a few minutes. She would rather bask in the sight of her family so content in just being. She hadn't witnessed such warmth in so long that she needed the reprieve from her own personal hell. But when Gemma laid eyes on her, she couldn't believe it. She was sure she was dreaming. She thought she had finally lost her fucking mind.

When Gemma stood and reached for the girl to touch her—make sure she was real, the other eyes in the room looked on in question. No one else in the room could believe it either. Gemma's finger brushed her cheek, feeling the substance that created a human beneath her flesh. Bryn was standing before her a whole being, corporeal and breathing.

"I'm sorry…" The words had to claw their way from her throat. She meant every one, but the weight of the moment called for a silent gathering of the heart.

Gemma wrapped her arms tightly around Bryn as she sobbed into her baby's hair. She didn't have any words either, and, truthfully, none were needed.

Clay stood and shouted to the crowd throughout the clubhouse, "If you ain't a Son or an old lady, get the hell out of here!"

The crowd dispersed, leaving only those at the poker table, the prospect behind the bar, and Tara sitting at the bar, nursing a ginger ale for her morning, evening, and night sickness.

Thomas brushed a hand across his faux-hawk as he stood before his sister. He had thought a million times about how much we wanted to see her again, but those ideas escaped him when the dreams made way to reality. He just hugged her and breathed her in. She was real.

Jax stepped up to his sister next and took no time in surrounding her with his presence and letting his silent tears slip down his face.

Bryn walked tentatively over to her father and tilted her head to study him. Clay brought his hand to her cheek. He hadn't believed his own sight when she made her presence known. He was sure senility had set-in early. Regardless, he had seen the proof that she wasn't dead. Clay pressed his lips to her forehead, just as he had done so many times before and embraced her tightly.

Bryn was overwhelmed by the warmth of her family and the greetings she received from every Son in the room. It was such a far cry from the hell she had survived in the last 3 years. For the first time since she said goodbye to her family 9 years prior, she felt safe.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

The dark consumed Bryn. Blindfolded and hanging chained from the rafters, she could sense her assailants, but not see them. She knew them, of course. She had spent the last 3 months of her life tracking them—hunting them down to their hole of a dungeon. She and her men were to ambush them and take them by surprise, but unbeknownst to her team, there was a rat amongst them. She hadn't figured out who it had been, not that it mattered since she was the only survivor. But the organization had known of their ambush and turned the tables on them.

She felt the blade of the knife push into her skin. She didn't scream—wouldn't give them the satisfaction of her pain. She wouldn't speak either. She wasn't a rat. She had learned that much from her years growing up in the MC and her career thus far in the Marines.

What struck Bryn hardest was not the pain of the cuts, but the relief she felt. She could focus on the blood and ripped skin rather than the agony of the situation.

Bryn woke in a sweat. She hadn't had a decent night's sleep in years. Though she had been resting on a nice, cozy bed for only 1 night, she could feel the difference. While she had been plagued with the nightmares of her real torture, she felt better than she had in days. The only annoyance was the itch of her skin. She could feel the burn and needed to stoke the fire before she could face the firing squad waiting for her downstairs in the clubhouse.

Bryn sat against the bathtub and watched the blood drip down her thigh to the dark tile beneath her. She felt instantly better as she laid the bloody razor blade down beside her. Her cutting had begun slowly—a mere torture of the terrorists. She had grown to find a small fraction of peace in the practice. She'd broken a small bit of mirrored glass in her cell to do it herself after a while. Even now, at home in this place, she needed the release. She wished she could stop now that she was home, but the turmoil within her soul hadn't ceased with her escape.

Bryn cleaned the blood from her upper, inner thigh and bandaged the wound. She scrubbed the blood from the tile and rinsed the small razor blade before slipping it back into its place hidden inside the leather cuff she wore.

She was fucked up; no one would have to convince her of that fact. And she was sure no one could blame her for her messed-up shit. She had been a prisoner of war. The scars that littered her mind and body were extensive and defining. She certainly had no desire to expose them, but there was a group of people waiting for her to tell her story—rip open the stitches keeping her together. They loved her and they deserved to hear it all. They had grieved for their loss—mourned her, and she had stepped back into their reality to shatter the guard they had built.

Stepping out of the bathroom attached to the dorm room, Bryn grabbed the only clothes she had with her—a pair of jeans, a white tank top and a navy blue hoodie. She had no other belongings in her possession. Everything had been boxed and shipped to her family by the military. The only purchase she had made when she hit American soil was the clothes on her back and the blade tucked into her cuff.

Bryn wasn't surprised to find everyone gathered in the bar area. They were waiting patiently—no doubt anxious to have their questions answered. She made her way to the table where Gemma sat and watched her mother's face turn to relief as though she was afraid that she had dreamed her baby girl's return. As Bryn sat opposite Gemma and Clay, the prospect set a plate of breakfast in front of her. She hadn't had breakfast and real home cooked food in so long, she didn't know whether to dive in or begin with a conversation. The rumble in her stomach made up her mind for her.

Bryn savored the experience. She was sure her family was staring at her like she had grown a second head when her eyes rolled back into her head, but she couldn't care. She had not had such luxuries in a long time.

When Bryn finally laid her fork on her empty plate, she took a deep breath. "I suppose I should tell you how I'm not dead." Her eyes scanned the anxious faces around the room. "There are a lot of pieces of the puzzle that I can't tell you—for your safety. I was on a mission in a country that I cannot name. It is an area that is at war." She paused for a moment deciding how to tell the necessary parts without the gore. "My team and I were ambushed by the organization we were tracking. There was only a split second between the first and last hit. I was the only survivor—probably because I was the only female. They thought they could beat information out of me." Bryn felt her heart and soul go cold. It was her defense mechanism. She didn't want to feel the emotion swallow her. "But I'm not a rat, so I took it. I couldn't count the days and nights I was held and tortured. It all kind of blurred together. I haven't been captive in months though. I had to fight and kill my way out of the complex. I trudged through the rainforest for months before I reached civilization. First chance I got, I made it to the embassy. They got me home after my debriefing. You know the rest."

Clay sensed she was leaving a lot out—everyone was actually. She was hiding the gory details of her last 3 years. But Clay could appreciate her trying to shield them from the damage. She had obviously been through hell by the cold look in her eyes. She was essentially a trained assassin, but in her heart, she was still the little girl that had run around the lot with her brothers. She was just a damaged version of that child.

Bryn stood from the table. "I need to get out a bit—get some fresh air. My bike still here?"

Tig wrapped an arm around her shoulders, "Yep. It's actually on display with John's upstairs. Juice and me'll get it down for you. Give us 10 minutes, doll."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter4:

Bryn had missed the freedom of riding. It provided a rush of adrenaline that she hadn't experienced in a while. The wind whipped by her face filling her ears with the sound of rushing air and her own blood pumping. It was an uncharacteristically cool day by California standards. The cool air stung her cheeks and Bryn welcomed the bite of air against her skin.

She slowed once she reached the opening in the tree line that led to a stream and waterfall. It was her safe place as a child—a break from the reality that was growing up SAMCRO. Happy had brought her here for the first time after a particularly brutal attack during the Mayan War. He had taken to protecting the young girl as though she were his own family. He was her parents' attempt to shield her from the gruesome truth that was an MC war.

Bryn was surprised to find Happy already seated beneath the shade. He had the same idea—escape the real world for a bit. Bryn sat down beside Happy, letting her feet stretch out in front of her and her hands brace the ground behind her. They didn't speak for a while. That was the beauty of their friendship. Neither felt the need to fill the silence with mindless chatter. If either said anything, it needed to be said and held a purpose.

Bryn was the first to utter a word. "When Gramps died, you told me that I had to keep moving or death would consume my soul. It would become my own version of hell if I didn't keep going. I get it now." Bryn turned her face to look at Hap. "I've seen and inflicted so much death. For a while when I was caged in the cell, I let it really get to me. I've never craved death before then."

Happy didn't move. His voice was the only clue he had heard her at all. "You're strong. You'll get through it."

Bryn knew that he meant so much more than just the simple sentences that came from his mouth. He was saying that he had been there too—he had wished for death himself and had overcome that impulse. He was saying that she was strong like him, and she would survive.

After a while, when the sun was sitting square overhead, Bryn made her way to her bike, just sitting on the seat. Anyone looking in her direction would easily be able to sense the weary sadness rolling off of her. Bryn tended to keep her shit to herself and hold it all in. She felt no need to burden others with her issues. Happy could relate to that, but there in front of him, was this woman that he had watched grow and mature and sadden. It was a tense change for sure. He wasn't usually affected by that kind of shit, but he felt for her—mostly because they were so much alike.

Happy walked over to her bike. He was so unsure of his movement when he ran a hand over her back. He was a bit shocked when Bryn leaned into his body, accepting the warmth and trust he was handing over to her. With that simple gesture, Bryn felt better for the moment. She cranked her bike and let it idle for a moment before taking off towards the clubhouse—Happy riding beside her.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

Bryn was feeling claustrophobic. She had been back in Charming for a week and hadn't seen much besides the clubhouse. She needed a bit more freedom. Bryn had spent way too long caged to stay that way for long.

She had some money in an account set up for her by the military. It was supposed to be their way of righting their wrongs as far as she was concerned. Someone figured it would keep her from suing. That person obviously didn't know Bryn. She wasn't that petty—pissed, but not petty. She accepted the sum anyway, mostly because she had no intention of signing another contract for the service.

Bryn thought about getting a place. She needed to live somewhere that smelled less like leather and used pussy. She'd found a few places online that looked like nice side projects, but nothing she could rest and relax in. She hadn't done much resting and relaxing for the last decade anyhow, so a side project fixer-upper was the best option.

Bryn made her way into the kitchen for coffee on her way out, running into Gemma. Before her hand could touch the mug, Bryn was enveloped in her mother's arms. She was beginning to feel like a doll to a child, but she also understood Gemma's need to feel her—whole and breathing. "Ma, I'm fine," as she patted her mother's back in return.

Gemma unwound herself from her baby and touched her cheeks, "No, you're not. But you're here and you're safe. We can fix the rest."

Bryn wasn't sure how to respond. She knew her mother was speaking the truth. It wasn't difficult to see how cold and hardened Bryn had become, even more so for Bryn, herself—the emptiness, the cutting—she'd fallen so far.

Bryn simply nodded and drank her coffee. Words could not heal her, and she feared nothing could. Standing in a building, filled with so many people that loved her, she felt so alone. What was worse, she felt damaged and unworthy. A cold military operative—she was, but she was also a woman. She wanted to be loved, but Bryn felt that with her deep scars, she was unlovable.

As Bryn made her way to the parking lot, Hap was leaning on his bike next to hers. "Where you goin'?"

Bryn straddled her bike, processing the question. "Got a place. I'm goin' to check it out." She was surprised when Hap straddled his bike as well, cranking them simultaneously.

A few short hours later, she sat quietly on the floor of the small house, eating pizza from the box with Happy. The content silence was more comfort than she had found in quite a while. It offered almost as much comfort as her blade.

Bryn knew Happy was an assassin. They had that much in common. He understood her hard shell and cold demeanor. She knew how he, too, had to shield emotion for fear crumbling under the weight of his humanity. They were one in the same, with different causes.

Their silent reverie was broken by the sound of engines. Neither moved nor even flinched. That sound was all too familiar—a chorus bikes idling before silence in her driveway. There was no knock before the front door opened and heavy boots thudded to the main room.

"You just gon' sleep on the floor or some shit? You should just stay another night at the clubhouse." Jax smiled in his sister's direction.

Thomas' dimples shone brightly as he rounded the corner after Jax. "You know Ma'll have you hooked up in no time."

Bryn gave the closest thing to a smile she had attempted in years. Despite the chaos inside of her and the language her body spoke most of the time, she was glad to be with her family again. She only wished she knew how to fix herself. "Nah, I'm gonna grab a pillow and blanket and rough it out here for a night. I've slept in worse places." One sentence was all it took to remind the room that she wasn't their Bryn anymore—that girl may be locked away deep inside of her, but outwards, she was an ex-POW with a serious case of PTSD and she was stuck in survival mode.

Happy rubbed his hand over his head, "Well, we better get goin'. Let you get some rest. Gemma and Clay have us on moving duty tomorrow."

Bryn's eyebrows drew together in confusion, "Moving what?"

Thomas clapped his sister on the back with a laugh. "Get some sleep. You'll need it."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6:

"_How does it feel? No one knows you live. They are not looking for you." The black-eyed terrorist bore through her with his menacing stare. "Your very life is in my hands. Choose your words carefully, but by all means choose your words. I would hate to cut out your pretty little tongue."_

_She refused to speak, like every other time. She didn't even open her mouth to scream as he drove the knife through her leg until it became imbedded in the chair beneath her. She simply closed her eyes and imagined sitting at her parents' dining table, watching her family in contentment—big bad bikers having a fun family dinner. That was her happy place. Could she will herself back to her home, to that place, when she was filled with child-like wonder, she certainly would have. _

_Reality was a bitch though, that pulled her back to the brutal shore with wave after wave of endless agony. He cut again…_

Bryn woke in a thick sheen of sweat. Her eyes darted from wall to bare wall in panic. She'd stood and backed against a wall before her mind registered her location. Bryn felt relief course through her as she slid down the wall of her living room, cradling her head. She wanted to cry, but she couldn't, she wouldn't.

She felt the itch, tingling just beneath the surface. Mindlessly, she rubbed her thinly scarred inner thigh heavily, irritating the raised skin. It wasn't enough. She needed the pain to wash over her—help her forget, if only momentarily.

Pulling the blade from her cuff, Bryn stared at it for a while. She couldn't understand why she needed it so badly. She'd been returned home. She'd fought with her entire being, and saved herself. Yet something that was used to try and break her had become her vice.

She couldn't deny her need as she dragged the blade across her skin. A euphoric wave crashed against her shortly before calm settled over her body. Slick blood slid silkily down her thigh, rounding the flesh before settling in a small puddle on the floor.

Bryn sat unmoving for minutes, felt like hours, unmoving until she heard the rumbling she was sure was heading for her driveway. Hastily, Bryn cleaned the blood from her thigh and the floor with a shirt before heading to the bathroom. She was pressing the shirt against her bleeding wound when she heard the door open and her father speaking. "Bryn, get your ass out here. Your mom is puttin' us to work."

"I'll be right out," she shouted just as the wound clotted. She stuffed the shirt under the sink for hiding until her visitors left. Pulling on a grey tee shirt and her ripped jeans, Bryn made her way to the kitchen where her family had convened.

"What the hell is going on this early in the morning?" Bryn eyed the clock on the stove that glared 8:00 in angry red letters.

"Gem threatened to cut off our collective nuts off if we didn't unload your shit?" Tig said as he hugged her to his side.

"Which brings me to the real reason we're here," Clay grinned at his daughter. "You know your mom. She did a little shopping yesterday. Maxed out my credit card and got the shit you need around here. There's a shit ton of bags, boxes and furniture on the truck in your driveway."

Bryn smiled a real smile when the woman in question walked into the kitchen, hands on her hips and a 'get-to-fucking-work' look on her face. She felt a small piece of herself settle back into place. It was minute, but progress. There she stood, in her own home, surrounded by the people who loved her, who'd mourned her not long ago. They were showing her in this way that they would move the earth for her if she could be okay again.

Gemma saw that smile meet her eyes for a moment and softened. Her baby would be back in no time. Before long, the house was in motion. Gemma stood at the center ordering the guys around.

Bryn had escaped to her bedroom to fold and put away the clothes Gemma had picked up for her. She could only wear the 3 outfits she's gotten since her return so many times before Gemma would lose her mind.

Happy was in the process of assembling her heavy-ass bed. He knew exactly how Gemma had maxed out that credit card—if the charged by the pound, her furniture would have cost a fortune.

Bryn leaned against the doorway of her closet watching Happy as he put the last screw into place. "You're pretty handy, Killer."

Happy stood; sweat listening on his tanned, tatted torso. He smirked at her, "you could get off your pretty, little ass and help me load the mattresses."

For the second time that day, Bryn smiled genuinely. She felt oddly playful for the first time in forever. "I'm glad you think my ass is little AND pretty." She moved to help him with the mattresses anyway.

They easily slid the mattress onto the box-spring before collapsing onto the bed beside each other, feet hanging off the side. Bryn turned her head to the side, studying Hap's profile. He was older than her, but he didn't look it at all. He had a rugged look about him; Bryn would dare to say he was beautiful. Her eyes scanned the intricate, colorful lines that covered his body. "I want you to tat me."

Happy turned his head to look at Bryn. He could tell that she was wholly serious.

Before he could say anything, Bryn continued, "I have a couple of scars that bother me more than others. I want to cover them."

"Where?"

Bryn felt the cold seeping into her bones as she thought about it. She stood form the bed and began lifting her shirt, bringing her bra up only inches to show a long jagged scar along the underside of her breast.

Happy sat up on the bed and reached out to touch her skin, running his thumb along the scar. Bryn held her breath. She'd forgotten how good it felt to be touched by a man that wasn't an enemy out for blood.

Hap noticed her closed eyes and bated breath. He let his palm slide against her skin and down her side as he took in the other smaller scars that littered her torso. She was still beautiful, despite the reminders of battle that she now wore. Hap's hand made its final turn at her hip as it slid around her waist, pulling her close to him.

Bryn's eyes just barely opened as she felt Happy's tongue glide across the scar at her breast. Her hands ran across his head instinctively as she let out a moan and dropped her head back.

Happy stood from the bed, keeping his arm around her waist as his other hand wrapped in her hair, pulling their lips together.

Bryn felt an explosion building inside of her as their tongues battled. That explosion was stifled at the sound of Gemma alerting everyone that food was ready.

Bryn stood trying to catch her breath as Happy walked toward the ruckus with a pleased grin on his face.


	7. Chapter 7

So, I got a question about Thomas being alive, and wanted to address it. I started writing this story about a year ago, before I just stopped for a while. I'd only gotten the first couple of chapters out and decided that I couldn't write about Gemma grieving the loss of a second child. The story would have been so much darker than it already is.

The first season was my favorite simply because the family felt like a unit. I write my stories with Clay, Gemma and Jax as a unit because, when I forget the dark scheming and underhanded-ness of the characters, the dynamic is so much more comfortable.

I hope you like the story so far. I'm going to take my time with this one. This chapter is not as deep as others, but it is necessary to make the next step. I'm working chapter by chapter before posting, so if you have any suggestions, let me know and I will try to see what I can do—no promises though.

-Brandi

Sn: I don't own anything. No copyright infringement is intended. Any recognizable characters or situations are wholly the property of Kurt Sutter and creative partners associated with the show.

Chapter 7:

Silence had grown to be a hard reality for Bryn while she was imprisoned. Between beatings and blood there was nothing but the sound of shallow breath. She would often try to imagine the sounds of home—rough, scratchy voices, honed from years of smoking, the thump of boots on concrete, the growl of an engine. If she closed her eyes she could come close, but the silence itself…that was torture designed to remind her that she was, indeed, alone. However, as she sat on the couch in her freshly painted living room, she enjoyed a moment of complete silence. Her little comfortable bubble had taken such true form around her that she felt a sense of ease in her home. She felt no cold, no itch. Dare she say she felt content?

It had been two weeks since her encounter with Happy—fourteen long nights of unsatisfied lust. Shortly after, he and most of the club, save Piney and Bobby, had taken off to Tacoma to help a fellow charter settle some business. While she longed to feel like a real woman again, something she'd forgotten she could feel until Happy touched her, she found contentment in diving head first into her house. Sleepless nights translated into her bathrooms and living room being completely updated. It was strangely therapeutic. The sweat and ache she developed while working in solitude slowly made her feel more human. She'd even sat around drinking beer and laughing with her mom and Tara for a few hours the night before.

It hadn't all been roses, however. There were nights when her skin crawled with that familiar itch—a feeling Bryn would never be able to put fully into words. She'd suppressed it much longer than usual, but she had given in a couple of times. The cuts hadn't been as satisfying as she'd become accustomed, so she'd cut deeper than usual. The deeper she'd delved, the easier it had become to remember true pain—the very essence of the human disposition. The last time, she'd scared herself, afraid of her secrets becoming known. She couldn't ask for help. That would risk her security. It'd taken an hour to stop the bleeding completely. For Bryn, it felt longer. It was definitely a moment that had to happen. Bryn needed to understand the stress she'd put on her body with her addiction. That had been 4 days prior. She'd suppressed any cravings since. That was her goal—to take it day-by-day, craving-by-craving.

Bryn's reflective silence was short lived as her phone chimed. She glanced at the screen, full aware that her mother had texted her. She'd expected Gemma to have a family dinner as soon as the guys made it back in town. It had only been a matter of time. Truth be told, she was looking forward to it. She had been feeling more whole than ever and was sure the rest of her family would be pleased to see the difference in her.

She pulled on her favorite pair of worn jeans. She'd fished them from the storage locker of stuff her parents had kept after her "death." She pulled on a white racer-back tank top as well. She was aware that some small scars were visible if one looked closely, but she didn't want to let that hinder her self-confidence any longer. Bryn was stronger than that. She pulled on her boots and looked in the mirror at her athletic frame. She'd been so frail when she returned home—a combination of malnutrition and imprisonment. But, she was growing more comfortable and had begun to return to her former physical shape. There were still a few scars that made her recoil, but she could look herself in the eyes again—she once feared she'd never find that place again.

Bryn was surprised to see that she was the last to arrive as she pulled her bike into her parents' driveway. She could see Bobby, Tig and Chibs heckling the prospect in the side yard. The poor guy looked to be trying way too hard. Bryn simply shook her head with a smile as she approached the group.

"Well, ain' that a pretty sight on yer face, cupcake," Chibs smiled at Bryn, pulling her into his side for a hug. She looked into the Scotsman's eyes and softly smiled.

"Y'all giving this poor boy such a hard time. Your legs ain't broke. Can't you get your own beer?" Bryn chided.

"Darlin', I did my time as the doormat. It's his turn," Bobby spoke to Bryn before turning his head to the prospect, "You better be brewin' that shit if it's taking this long."

Moments later he had a fresh one in his hand. Tig chimed in, "Kid just might make it." He looked to Bryn before he stepped closer to her and put an arm around her neck. "You know, Hap's been like a fuckin' school girl since we left your place a few weeks ago. You know anything about that?" His eyebrows waggled in a suggestion.

Bryn raised her eyebrow and flushed as she spoke, "What the hell would I know?" She quickly changed the subject before he could press further, "I'm hungry as shit. When the hell is dinner actually supposed to go down?"

Bryn quickly made her way into the dining room from the patio—successfully escaping further questions. She ran directly into her father. Clay kissed her forehead as he passed on his way to join the men. He never had been one to pry when it came to his princess. He, too had noticed the change in his assassin, but he knew better than to press, especially with Bryn's prior fragile state.

Bryn smiled softly at her father-her daddy. She could only hope that she found someone as strong as him one day—if she hadn't already.

She easily spotted Jax, Thomas, Juice and Happy hanging out in the living room. The latter caused her to pause. She hadn't registered the fact that he, too, would be here. Of course he would. But she was so unsure when it came to him just then. Ultimately, Bryn chose not to linger. As far as she knew, nothing had changed.

As she made her way into the kitchen she could easily hear Gemma and Tara laughing.

"That kid is determined to give me a heart attack!" Tara was obviously talking about Abel, who'd recently reached the peak of his terrible twos.

"Is he jumpin' off of furniture again?" Bryn asked as she leaned against the counter next to her still smiling mother.

Tara shook her head smirking, "He tried to slide down the stairs from the second story in a dresser drawer! Thank God I caught him before he did it." She rubbed her slightly protruding belly, "this one better be a girl."

Gemma laughed. "Like that's any better?" Pointing at Bryn, "this one here tried to fly off the roof of the garage with an umbrella like Mary Poppins! Thankfully, she walked away with only a broken arm." Gemma looked at her daughter before kissing her forehead, "you're worth every gray hair."

"I love you too, Ma." Bryn soon made her way to the living room, "Where'd Jax and Tom go?"

"Helpin' Ope grill the steaks," Juice answered before he noticed the look Bryn was giving him.

Bryn smiled sweetly in Juice's direction, "Oh, Juicy! Can I ask a favor?" She used her nicest voice as she sat between Juice and Happy.

"I don't know. It's kinda scary, you bein' that sweet. I haven't decided if I should run yet." He eyed her warily, knowing full well he wouldn't tell her 'no.'

Bryn just smirked, "Glad I invoke fear in you, Juicy-boy. It won't involve you getting arrested or getting shit from the guys." Bryn took that moment to send a pointed look in Hap's direction. "I got a surround sound system and I need help installing it."

Juice looked relieved. "Shit. Yeah, I can help with that." He puffed out a breath of air before standing. "Let me know when you need me to come by, aight?"

Bryn shook her head as Juice made his way to the patio door. She only then realized that she was alone with Happy and she had no idea what to say or do. Bryn may not have been the center of the in-crowd when she was younger, but she had never been without confidence. Gemma had drilled that much into her. She was especially used to having a comfortable connection with Happy. They'd always had a content quiet between them, but at that moment the silence was nerve wracking.

She looked in his direction to see him looking back—black eyes boring into her. Bryn did the only thing she found acceptable at that moment—she fled. She stood quickly from the couch and all but ran to the kitchen—seeking solace from her discomfort.


	8. Chapter 8

This is not a long chapter, but it is a good one. I'm dedicating this chapter to HRGHfan35. You have been an awesome and dedicated reviewer to all of my stories. Hope you enjoy it.

It may take a couple of days for the next chapter. Read on!

-Brandi

Chapter 8:

Bryn stood outside of the powder room door for only a minute waiting for Happy. But in the span of that moment, she felt the weight of the oncoming confrontation. She knew it needed to happen though. Dinner would be ready in minutes and she didn't want any weird vibes at that table—Gemma would catch on quickly. Lord help the person that kept something from Gemma, and Bryn had no intention of being that person.

Bryn was still stuck deep in thought when the door opened to reveal Happy. Bryn hadn't even registered his presence before she was being pulled through the door and set on the bathroom counter. Startled, Bryn's mind wandered back to reality in time for Happy to settle between her thighs with his hands tightly gripping her hips. He waited in silence for her to speak.

Bryn had played this conversation in her head while she'd wandered the house after she ran out on him. Suddenly, in the moment, those words escaped her. Her mind could form no coherent thoughts. Her entire being was filled with nothing but Happy's touch and smell. As her eyes roamed his face for any sign of thought, she found herself drawn to his lips. She remembered their feel so well. Happy was a rough man, but those lips may have been made from clouds. And god, what he could do with his tongue.

Bryn felt her body heat rising, a flush running across her body, stemming from his hands on her hips. She closed her eyes and ran her hands up and across Hap's chest, biting her lip in want. When she finally opened her eyes and looked back at Happy, she saw the lust rolling off of him as well. That was all the invitation either needed.

In the next moment, Bryn was consumed by his lips, tongue, hands running under her shirt, later fisting her hair. And she gave as good as she got. Bryn let her nails run along the taught skin of Happy's back as she bit his lip, eliciting a groan.

Happy closed his eyes and panted as his forehead rested against Bryn's. "Why'd you take off so fast?"

That question brought Bryn back to reality. She pulled her head back, looking down. "We've always had the same dynamic, Hap." She looked up at him, unsure of her words. "Shit just got weird."

"Sure seemed like you enjoyed it," He smirked.

Bryn smiled, "I didn't know how to act around you." Bryn rolled her eyes, "I sound like a fuckin' chick right now," she laughed. "Truth is, I wanted to fuck you so hard. I still do. But we're friends, Hap. I don't want shit to be weird between us."

Hap sighed. He knew exactly where she was coming from. Hap stepped back, releasing his hold on her. "I get it. I don't want it weird either. Come on," He smacked her thigh, "let's eat." He smiled in her direction and Bryn smiled back.

Bryn hopped off the counter, adjusting herself. She knew that her brothers or her mom, hell even Tig, would notice if she walked into the dining room looking thoroughly ravished. She pulled her fingers through her hair, working out a couple of knots, "Damnit Hap! Did you try to maul me or some shit?"

Hap slapped her ass, "You clawed up my back. Who's mauling who?"

Bryn laughed as she led him to the dining room where everyone was just starting to come together.

Thomas was the closest person to her entrance. Hearing her laughter, he quickly pulled his sister into a hug as she entered the room. "It's good to see you smile, Ben. I missed you," he spoke softly.

Bryn pulled back to look at her brother. He was barely older than her, born to Gemma and John not long before John's death. Gemma and Clay had Bryn a year and a half later. Poor Tommy couldn't form his Rs correctly. Thus, she became Ben to him. She hadn't heard that name in years. Bryn knew at that moment, she truly was home. "Missed you too, Tommy boy."

She smiled again before taking her seat and watching the interaction around her. This was how she chose to remember her family while she was being held—sitting around the dinner table, laughter filling the air, a smile at every turn. This was home for Bryn.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9:

"Shit!"

Bryn had heard Juice yell in her living room from the back deck of her house. She rushed to the living room to find him holding his hand to his bleeding eyebrow. Bryn was quick to grab a kitchen towel and press it into the wound where Juice was lying on the floor. "You're supposed to drill into the wall, not your face," she smirked as the bleeding slowed beneath her hand. "How the hell did you manage to put a gash on your eyebrow?" Her face was a mixture of concern and amusement.

"I was making the hole to pull the last wire through. My foot slipped out from under me and your TV stand caught me in the face on my way down. The edge of that thing is shard as shit!" Juice grimaced as Bryn removed the towel from his face.

Bryn examined the wound. "I think I can glue it shut." She stood from the floor, "Give me a second to get the glue and first aid shit."

Juice just nodded as Bryn padded through the house gathering what she needed. She soon returned and assisted the oddly smiling man to her couch before sitting on his leg to get the best angle of his wound. Juice placed his hand at her waist to steady her as she shifted to straddle him for a more comfortable position.

Bryn set to work cleaning his wound. "Why the hell are you smiling?" She asked, truly confused by his demeanor.

Juice chuckled, "If I'd known it only took a minor injury to get you this close to me, I would have fucked myself up sooner."

Bryn smiled and shook her head before she leaned over his torso to blow on the drying glue. When she began to pull back, she noticed the look in Juice's eyes—she knew that one all too well. She'd felt something similar beneath the hands of his 'brother' only days before.

Juice slid his hand against the side of her face, running to the back of her neck before bringing her face to his. Juice meets her lips with his in a passionate kiss. Bryn kisses him back, but she can't help but compare the kiss to Happy's. Juice certainly knew how to kiss a woman—she could imagine any other woman becoming weak in the knees and folding beneath his touch. His lips were firm, but silky. But in the back of her mind, Bryn couldn't help but feel that Juice just wasn't Happy. That idea scared her.

Bryn pulled away from Juice. She couldn't find the words, but he could see it in her eyes. Rubbing the back of his neck, Juice looked around the room as he spoke, "Shit. I made it weird, didn't I?"

Bryn felt bad. She had kissed him back—given him a semblance of hope before pulling it away. "No. You were perfect. But I'm kind of stuck on someone." She couldn't look at him either. She had a feeling everyone had been insinuating that something had happened between her and Hap, so Juice could probably guess that Happy was the one she spoke of. "It will probably never be what I want it to be, but I'm… stuck right now. And that's not fair to you." She finally looked him in the eyes.

Juice was looking right back. He understood, and he did know that it was Happy. "You never know. Maybe it will happen with him." Juice helped Bryn clean up the first aid supplies and bloody towel before finishing the job he had started.

Bryn just watched on, hoping he was right.

Standing in the driveway, Juice could tell that Bryn was feeling overwhelmed and down. She'd stopped just short of his bike. "Thanks for helping me out, Juice. I owe you." She smiled softly, still troubled by other thoughts.

Juice placed one hand on her cheek, rubbing his thumb softly, "I think things are going to turn out better than you think with him. If they don't, and you need a shoulder to cry on or a little lovin'… or you just change your mind, I'm here."

Bryn reached up and kissed his cheek. "Thanks. That means more to me than you know."

They'd been so wrapped up in their conversation that they hadn't heard Hap roll in on his bike until he was cutting the engine behind Bryn. Juice let his hand fall, looked up at his brother and nodded, "See ya, Killah." Glancing back down at Bryn, "Don't forget what I said, B. See ya."

Bryn just waved as he left. She felt him move in behind her, just off to the side, more from instinct than from physical cues. The air changed. She smelled the leather and tobacco scent that was ultimately Happy. "You and Juice, huh?" He didn't sound like he was asking or joking. There was a tinge of anger and jealousy to his words.

"No. He's just been a really good friend." Bryn tilted her head to look back at Hap. He was watching her so closely that she felt she might freeze beneath his stare. "You crashin' here tonight?"

Bryn started walking toward the house with Happy in tow. "Yeah. If you got other plans, I can do something else."

"No plans here," she made her way to the kitchen. "Any requests for dinner?"

Happy wanted to say "Yeah. You." But thought better. "Nah. Home cooked food is home cooked food. I'll take whatever I can get."

Bryn simply nodded and pulled out roast and potatoes from the fridge. She silently and methodically prepped the food and cleaned the mess. It would be a couple of hours before dinner would be ready. Bryn solemnly made her way into the living room to find Hap already kicked back on the couch watching _Sons of Guns_—boots by the door and kutte on the entryway table.

Bryn knew he would notice if she became off-standish again, so she sank into the couch to watch the show with him. She found herself clinging to the opposite side of the couch. It wasn't that she couldn't handle being near him, it was that she didn't trust herself to do so. She wanted him, with her core being, she needed to be with him. But what she wanted wasn't what he could give—she'd known that all along. He was a lifetime, dedicated bachelor.

Hap wasn't comfortable with the distance. So he shifted to lying across the couch with his head in her lap. He should have felt freaked out a little. He shouldn't want to be that close to her. Only he did. He'd never wanted to have such close contact with a woman that didn't involve an orgasm. And he couldn't decide when he had become okay with this pseudo-relationship.

Bryn let her hand run over his tats, fascinated by the lines and colors. She let her nail softly glide along the designs peeking from beneath his shirt.

The comfortable silence had returned, but the churning within Bryn had never felt so strong. It was a burning desire infused with fear and self-loathing. She felt unworthy. And her skin began to tingle with that familiar itch.


End file.
